


The Best Part of Me Is You

by bccalling



Series: Proposals [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 10, Season/Series 10 Spoilers, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-02-01 03:51:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21365218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bccalling/pseuds/bccalling
Summary: Sometimes, Mickey’s not great at communicating. Every now and then, Ian’s not either.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Proposals [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540264
Comments: 11
Kudos: 118





	The Best Part of Me Is You

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve made it my mission in life to write as many proposal fics as I can before the actual proposal happens. It’s probably just going to be two, but whatever. Also, this was supposed to be funny, but it became way more angsty and fluffy than intended…
> 
> Title and Lyrics from "The Best Part of Me" by Ed Sheeran (feat. YEBBA)

* * *

“Hey, Mick,” Ian calls as he pushes through the door, ditching his crutches by the door and flipping through the mail as he wanders into the kitchen. When he finds nothing of interest, he tosses it on the table and looks around for Mickey. “Mick!?” he tries again, glancing around in confusion. Usually Mickey’s close by when he gets home from work. Has been every day since they’d reunited after Mickey’s release.

After a few moments, Ian hears Mickey come thundering down the stairs, and he can’t help the smile that stretches across his face. Mickey looks good. Cleans up nice. Ian’s not sure what for, but he’s certainly not going to complain.

“Stop fuckin’ yellin’,” Mickey bites out, and he sounds genuinely angry.

Ian’s not sure what that’s all about, but he hopes he can help wipe away that irritation. He has big plans for the night. “_Hey_,” Ian murmurs, trying to push up close into Mickey’s space as Mickey grabs his wallet off the table and shoves it in his back pocket. When Ian gets close, though, Mickey turns on him and shoves him hard.

“_Fuck off_,” Mickey hisses, stalking toward the front door. For the first time, Ian notices just how angry Mickey looks and just how much that rage seems focused in on Ian specifically.

“What the _fuck_, Mickey!?” Ian’s close on Mickey’s heels--as close as he can be, at least with the damn boot on his leg--his own irritation dripping from his tone as he tries to keep pace with Mickey. The last thing he wants is to be irritated with Mickey tonight, but here they are. “The fuck’s goin’ on, man.” Mickey’s already out the door, the screen slamming back in Ian’s face as he follows Mickey out onto the porch, sees him barreling toward some dude on a green fuckin’ scooter and Ian’s suddenly seeing red. “_Mickey?!_”

Mickey swings on him then, all pissy swagger as he keeps moving backward toward the fucker on the street. “Why don’t _you_ tell me?” Mickey spits, tossing a crumpled sheet of paper in Ian’s direction. “Got a fuckin’ date!” He’s trying to sound nonchalant, but Ian can hear the hurt there, and he’s more confused than ever. “Don’t wait up!”

Ian freezes, breath caught in his throat and body stock still as he watches Mickey climb onto the back of the scooter—_the back of the fucking scooter_. Ian’s whole world feels like it’s crumbling as Mickey rides off into the distance, flipping Ian the finger as he goes.

When the wind kicks up, Ian finally springs back into action, lunging for the crumpled stationary Mickey’d left behind. He knows what it is. Knows what it says. He smooths it out. Reads the words. Rips it in half. But holds it tight in his grasp until he’s back inside and can deposit it on the kitchen table where Lip has taken up residence, nursing a beer while he watches Ian with his brow drawn in confusion and curiosity. Ian ignores him, instead tearing through to the back of the highest kitchen cabinet, drawing down an abandoned coffee can too high for Mickey to reach and too far back for anyone to notice.

“Dude, what’s goin’ on?” Lip finally asks in confusion, watching Ian in guarded amusement.

“I gotta go stop my dumb fuck of a boyfriend from doin’ somethin’ stupid,” Ian scoffs, ripping the plastic cover from the can and dragging out a small velvet box.

Lip’s eyebrows lift nearly to his hairline as he takes in the sight, nodding at the box Ian holds while taking a pull of his beer. “That what I think it is?” He asks, tone neutral. Ian just glares as he stuffs the box into his pocket. As Ian makes for the door, Lip lifts the torn shreds of paper from in front of him and reads the words there, his eyes widening as he lets off a little restrained huff of a laugh. Ian’s too pissed to bother with Lip, though, so he gets away with it. “You write this?” Lip asks. He knows the answer. Doesn’t expect a response. Not with Ian halfway out the door. “This looks bad, Ian!” he calls after his brother.

And yeah, Ian fucking _knows_.

* * *

In the end, it doesn’t take him long to find them. The little coffee shop they’re nestled in looks cozy—the type of place Ian thinks could have been perfect. But all he sees is hurt and anger. Takes a moment. Watches through the large textured window as Mickey fakes a tight smile and pretends to be enjoying the company he’s in. It’s an act, though. One Ian could spot a mile away.

Because Ian knows when Mickey’s hurting.

And he sure as fuck knows when he’s the one who’s created the hurt.

But Ian’s angry, too, because the fucker didn’t even wait for a goddamn explanation—just jumped to conclusions and flew off the fucking handle, and Ian should be used to that, but Jesus Christ, he just wants them to _communicate_ like fucking _adults_ sometimes.

* * *

When Ian finally shoves through the door and stalks over to their table, Mickey’s date looks nervous, eyes catching on Ian and the anger radiating from him the very moment he makes it through the door. For a moment, the guy tries to pretend Ian’s not there, and Mickey does, too—although Mickey does a fucking _spectacular _job of ignoring him. It pisses Ian off.

After a beat, though, the guy just can't keep glancing at Ian from the corner of his eye, so he tips his head in Ian’s direction and uses a voice full of feigned swagger to ask, “Can we _help_ you?”

Ian ignores the guy. Mickey finally gives in and turns angry eyes on Ian. “The fuck you _want_?!”

The bite in Mickey’s tone has Ian sucking in an angry breath and fighting back tears. _This moment was supposed to be perfect_, his mind screams at him, even as his fingers close around the velvet box in his pocket.

He tosses it on the table right in front of Mickey, waits just long enough for Mickey to register what he’s looking at before he’s answering, all anger.

“I wanted to talk, so I could _ask you to marry me, _you dick,” Ian hisses between clenched teeth, turning on his heel the moment Mickey’s eyes meet his, trying to hide the tears that have gathered there as he flees the little cafe as quickly as he can with the damn crutches in the way.

He hears Mickey stand behind him, hears the table wobble and the drag of the ring box as Mickey grabs it near carelessly. Hears the distinctive, quick fall of Mickey’s boots on the tile floor. And most importantly hears the absolute absence of any acknowledgment of the guy Mickey’d come with—a win in Ian’s book.

* * *

Once he’s outside, Ian pauses. Sucks in a deep breath. Hears Mickey stop just behind him.

Mickey gives him a moment, but when the waiting becomes too much, he reaches for Ian, fingers grazing gentle over Ian’s shoulder as he steps around to stand before Ian. Mickey’s all vulnerability in that moment, and Ian’s not ready to deal with that, so he tips his eyes up and away from the other man, but Mickey’s having none of it.

“Ian,” Mickey murmurs out, voice just above a whisper. Ian clenches his eyes shut tight then and curses the tears that fall against his will. “Ian, _please_. Look at me,” Mickey urges quietly. And that’s all it takes for Ian to turn back to him, the pull Mickey has over him undeniable as Ian’s damp eyes meet with Mickey’s. Ian’s not sure if Mickey’s eyes hold the same sheen of tears or if it’s just a trick of those still lingering in his own. When Ian can’t help the way his lips tip up in a smile as he watches the man he loves, Mickey smiles back, just a little at first, as he asks, “this real, Ian?

“What do you mean?” Ian asks quietly. But he thinks he knows. Probably.

“I _mean_,” Mickey insists, holding the box up with raised eyebrows, giving it a little shake, “is this _real_ or is it just something you’re doin’ ’cause I came out here with someone else?”

Ian huffs a little at the insinuation, but it’s turned just a little bit playful. He rocks forward a little, pushing himself just a bit further into Mickey’s space. “’Course it’s real,” Ian promises, watching Mickey carefully, eyes locking on Mickey’s, “Didn’t go out and buy a ring on the off chance you’d want to start dating someone else.”

“Didn’t want to date him,” Mickey adds quickly, taking another step into Ian’s personal space.

Ian nods. He believes that.

Once Ian acknowledges Mickey’s confession, though, Mickey reaches out, takes Ian’s hand—he’s gentle; doesn’t drop the soft pressure Mickey applies until Ian opens his palm, allowing Mickey to press the little velvet box back into his hand. For a moment, Ian’s confused, his brow furrowing and eyes sweeping up to catch Mickey’s.

“Let’s make it perfect,” Mickey murmurs, keeping Ian’s hand cradled in his own as he gently closes Ian’s fingers around the box. “_Ask me_.”

For a moment, Ian’s not sure what to say to that; just keeps his fingers wrapped around the soft velvet and savors the feeling of Mickey’s strong fingers keeping him grounded. When Mickey tries to pull back, Ian catches his fingers, gives them a little squeeze as he somehow manages to maneuver the box open.

“I’m not gettin’ down on one knee,” Ian warns with that dry humor Mickey loves, and Mickey laughs at that, big and loud as his eyes crinkle at the corners and a joyful smile settles over his lips.

“I think I’ll forgive ya that one,” Mickey offers, just a hint of sarcasm, as he pushes up closer in Ian’s space, lifting gentle fingers to cradle around Ian’s cheek, “_Ask me_, Ian.”

Ian smiles a little at that, eyes bright and happy and damp with tears again—this time for an entirely different reason. He can feel the love radiating off Mickey. Knows this is exactly where they’re meant to be. So he pulls the open ring box up through the nonexistent space between them. Rests it where Mickey can inspect it careful—this symbol that means so much for them and how far they’ve come. It seems insignificant, really. A simple gold band. Nothing fancy or expensive. Both sturdy and somehow delicate. But it’s them, through and through. A representation of all they have and all they are. Everything they once were and everything they’ll one day be. For a moment, Ian stays quiet, just takes in the weight of it all—of what he’s asking of the rough-and-tumble blue-eyed boy he’d fallen in love with so many years ago. Never thought they’d make it, really.

But here they are.

Mickey’s watching him. Hasn’t so much as glanced at the ring. Can’t tear his eyes away from Ian’s face. Watches and takes in every shifting emotion and feels them right along with Ian. Lets his fingers slip down into the crook of Ian’s neck as he stokes softly over the skin there, bringing Ian back to the moment.

“Will you, Mickey?” Ian finally asks, tear filled eyes full of hope as they raise to meet the storm of love in Mickey’s. “Will you marry me? Deal with all my bullshit and my spectacularly bad communication skills?” Mickey lets out a laugh at that—they’re in the same boat there, really. Ian grins and swoops down to press a kiss to the corner of Mickey’s mouth—can’t help himself—and then continues, whispered words nearly lost on the chill in the wind, “Spend forever with me, Mickey Milkovich?”

Mickey nods, stray tears unhidden streak down his cheeks as he whispers a soft “_yes”_ against Ian’s lips and then traps him in a kiss, dragging Ian as close as he can and holding on tight. When they break apart, Mickey keeps his forehead pressed tight to Ian’s, both of them allowing a few more happy tears to escape as they drown in one another, the events that transpired leading up to this moment forgotten to their shared joy. Ian marvels for a moment at this, here. At the fact that Mickey fucking Milkovich welcomed a public proposal—asked for it, even—and stands happy and proud in Ian’s arms for the world to see. They’ve come so far, Ian realizes, then, squabbles and miscommunications aside, they’re here and they’re happy, and they have one another. Forever, Ian dares hope.

So with shaking fingers, Ian fumbles with the ring, pulls it free and stuffs the box back in his pocket—nudges Mickey until he gets the hint and steps back just enough to offer Ian his left hand. Slides the ring into place on Mickey’s finger and then kisses Mickey sweetly again, twining their fingers until he can feel the smooth metal against his own skin, too.

“_I love you_,” Ian whispers honestly then, leaving not even a breath of space between them.

Mickey laughs happily at that, rocks a little on his feet to get just a bit closer.

“I love you, too, Ian,” Mickey promises.

And it sounds like forever.

* * *

_But you love me_

_You love me_

_Why the hell you love me so_

_When you could have anyone else?_

_He loves me_

_He loves me_

_And I bet he never lets me go_

_And shows me how to love myself_

_Baby, the best part of me is you_

_Lately everything’s making sense, too_

_Baby, I’m so in love with you_

* * *


End file.
